I've Seen This Film
by LunaZola
Summary: A gunshot and a promise. Someone once told him that life's too short not to tell someone you love them if you do, and it was a lesson that she had been taught young, yet they've always ignored it. It's about time they learn. *T because angst usually is*
1. Proposals

**A/N:Okay, Ya'll, I know some of you have been patiently waiting for the next chapter in my Simply Unplanned and I totally owe you but I just... haven't had that spark for a while. Some time real life can really get crazy, huh? Anyway, here is a one-shot I haven't been able to get out of my head! And so here you have it. It's been done before, but I've never done it. Let me know what you think and I'll try my very best to update the other story... eventually.**

**Also, I was kinda inspired by the No_Safety_Pin community over at livejournal (I totally don't have a livejournal though). I know that this isn't exactly the same kind of 'explosive' but sometimes I think silence can be just as destructive as words. Like a silently ticking bomb and that's what this is. **

After the gunshot is heard, she sprints into the warehouse to catch the tail-end of the conversation. Gibbs has one arm wrapped around Tony's shoulder, holding him somewhat upright as he speaks, and the other pressed to Tony's abdomen where crimson stains his skin. She pauses at the doorway unnoticed due to her cat like steps. She watches Tony's lips move slowly as his words come out in staccato, fighting against his breath. He closes his eyes tight against tears and only looks at Gibbs once he is sure they will not spill.

"... never got married, boss. Wanted... kids... white picket fence... dogs. Stupid dream. Never believed... I'd get it. But I never had a family, Gibbs. I never got married." Tony is muttering like a mantra and she can barely make out the words from across the large building, yet his words echo off the concrete walls. She knows this must be bad, because, though she is at quite a distance, she swears she sees her boss' eyes cloud slightly. But she has faith in her partner, she always has. He is, after all, a man who will not accept the fate he is dealt. Any other day she would be confident that he would fight, yet there is something in his voice that gives away his hopelessness. This dream he speaks of... it's one that has dragged him through his most challenging chapters, yet there is a capitulation in his voice that strikes dread through her. She swallows down the knot of needles in her throat and steadies her breathing before she dares to interrupt. Her feet break free from whatever has held her in place and she takes long slow strides towards the two men.

"I will marry you, Tony" She calls from a few feet away but withholds from speaking again until she is knelt beside him. She takes one of his bloodied hands from his gut and holds it in her hand as she uses her free hand to brush back his hair. He closes his eyes for just a moment, and she can't help but notice he looks like a puppy being scratched in his favorite spot.

"I will marry you, Tony" She repeats, softer this time, "but you must pull through."

His shy smile shows appreciation for her friendship. He seems sheepish, as if he is unwilling to accept her comfort, though. His features portray a knowing that, though her words are kind, they are unnecessary. It's a smile that says he does not believe her offer is completely genuine or that she would really marry him if this goes their way. He trusts her with his life, she is his best friend but he is reluctant to believe this isn't just a pity offer, something that she wouldn't have follow through with. And she knows this. She knows this doubtful look, and for once it is not justified. She never meant something more. She only wishes he could see this in her eyes, though it is possible the pain clouds his incredible investigative skills. For the next minutes, her only goal is to convince him of the truth in her offer.

She shifts so she is not hovering over him, rather seated beside him. She holds their folded hands against her chest, above her left breast, above her heart as she continues to stroke her fingers through his short hair. It is meant to be comforting, affectionate, but it strikes unease into her own tensing muscles when she realizes, no matter how right and normal it feels, how abnormal her behavior is. She is being soft, gentle, when maybe she should be kicking his ass and telling him to suck it up. Yet it's not right for her, because she honestly loves him, and deep in her soul her instincts have sparked the "Tali" in her. She was the best of them, after all.

"We will have a porch." She rasps after what could have been eternity, "And a swing on that porch. There is a park across the street and we can see our children play while we drink tea. We will raise our children with much independence, and though we are cops and know the dangers of the world, without fear because I am Israeli and I was raised where people mother others' children and parents do not know where their children are every moment of every day. On the weekends we take family trips to the zoo and museums. We celebrate both Christmas and Chanukah, both Passover and Easter, though neither of us are highly religious. And our children, they will have your eyes, your smile and your loyalty."

"Sounds Nice... Ziva" comes Tony's choppy glissando response where his slurring voice is interrupted by a harsh intake of breath. The pain makes it harder to focus on speaking clearly. He won't admit it to her but that was the dream all along. Ziva, kids, picket fence and a dog. She was always part of dream, though until she showed up in the bullpen, he didn't know that it was her. It really sucked that it took death, or near death at this point, to get this honesty flowing between them. Sure, sometimes it even took a little truth serum but they had revealed too little a bit, too few a time.

She presses their hands harder to her body and leans down to kiss him softly on the lips, careful not to take too much of his air. The touch of her lips is as light as the flutter of a butterfly's wings and she draws away so slowly that the scent of her shampoo clings inside his lungs. When she opens her eyes she sets him with a stern look, only slightly softened by the quirk of her lips.

"You will not die, Anthony." She orders, and it holds more authority than any of Gibbs' orders of life ever have, "You will not die until we are old, shriveled and have lived a long life together. You will not die until _I_ give you permission."

He grins up at her, a goofy type of grin. It is not one she would ever expect during this serious a time but it eases her soul and the panic loosens its grip on her heart. So she grins right back down to encourage the words breeding on his lips.

"I think, I'll have to say yes." Tony assures as he squeezes her hand right back, "I want that. I want that more than anything."

God, his words ring so earnest that she finds herself silently praying for the first time in so long. She grips his hand as heard as she possibly can, because he is he lifeline, her anchor and she wants it more than anything as well.

He makes what could only be a content sound and closes his eyes as Ziva continues to stare at him like the action could supply him with some of her future years. Only then, when Tony is fighting for his life peacefully, does she look up at Gibbs to gage whatever his reaction may be. Honestly, she hadn't necessarily forgotten he was there, rather she hadn't cared until now. His face isn't a practiced stoic, but an acceptance. His face gives away no surprise, no anger and no ... no nothing. He knew, and he had no apparent opinion about the fact other than a small smile in Ziva's direction. They had his approval.

"Sounds Nice, Ziver" he silently echoes the man on the cold ground. She only knows his words because of the pronounced movement of his chapped lips.

What were they so afraid of in the first place? Gibbs' wrath? That paled in comparison to their current danger. No, it was getting hurt. However, this hurt much more. It was the not knowing and not having of what they've both been wanting. Perhaps they feared rejection, though each was to proud to speak that truth. No, they were stubborn and had denied themselves this happiness and this, dare say it, love for too long and now the pain was becoming unbearable.

The danger was part of the job, they knew better than to take each other for granted or to hold important words for a later date, yet they did it anyway. They were constantly juggling grenades, constantly dodging daggers. It is only a matter of time that one is dropped or reflexes are delayed. They knew better, but for some unknown reason they ignore the harsh reality until it is too late, a close call. Perhaps this was their last chance, or perhaps they had missed their last chance ages ago after leaving the deserts of Africa. It is his voice that drags her from her slightly self-pitying reverie, much like he dragged her from that sandy hell. And his voice holds a naked imitation of the dry-air-affected voice he had used back then.

"I've seen this film" He whispers, a reference to another close call for their family-like team. His eyes are open again and he is looking at her through heavy eyelids. She doesn't know whether to scream at him, sob or hyperventilate. She doesn't want to think about the implication that exact phase might have. It feels like a secret code, she knows the cypher, but cannot, or will not, interpret with certainty. Her hand clenches his impossibly closer to her collarbone, trying to subdue or at least hide the trembling that may give her away. It feels remarkably like the moment a grenade impacts the floor, hoping that it is a dud, hoping for one more moment that the pin hadn't been pulled. Breathing out slowly, she silently urges him to continue as hysteria rattles through her ribcage.

It is times like these she is thoroughly grateful that he knows her, because she needs to know. She needs to know, as if this movie could actually predict the outcome of their situation, as if it decides their fate. Even if this movie he speaks of is of his own creation, she needs to know the ending. But she cannot speak it. Words in a language he understands are not finding their way to her tongue. She cannot speak them. But he knows her and knows what she needs.

"He lives" Tony breathes as he lets his eyes blink shut, then remain open and lets air woosh into his lungs. She believes him and this plausibly invented movie because the comfort they are meant to supply is felt. She believes him because it is a surge of hope in her that she wouldn't have without the simple statement. She presses another ghost of a kiss to his lips as she holds their tangled digits to her heart, the wailing of an ambulance part of the soundtrack to their film.

**Alright, tell me what you think, please? I hope it wasn't awful. Maybe I can get back into my Simply Unplanned mojo with some of your kind words? **

**Also, before any of you ask, I have no idea if Tony dies or not. That's the end! You decide. I didn't give you an answer on purpose. This was written in present tense and ended the way it was to give the uncertain, unknowing feeling. So tell me what you think happens to Tony? Argue your opinion. I'm curious to know how you interpreted it, because I wrote it with neither ending in mind. **


	2. The Story of Us

I know I said I wouldn't add more but I had an idea and I just had to run with it. Some of you may be disappointed but hopefully that won't be the case. Consider this a two shot.  
**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or the characters.**

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With a glass of ice tea clutched loosely between her hands, Ziva tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She loved the sounds and smells of summer. Though it smelled of flowers now, when it became dark she would most likely begin to smell the smoke of bonfires. The cool air whipped around her still long, but thinner, hair as the sounds of children playing rang out. Using her toes to slowly rock the porch swing back and forth she pictured his face. It was easy. She could close her eyes and see the youngest version of him she knew; the day they had met. He had had stressed bags below his eyes, but still had a playful quirk of the lips on his face. If she wanted she could see his face and she held his hand during his last moments. He had looked so much older then that she could hardly see the frat boy he had once been. Aging was an interesting thing. She had seen wrinkles accumulate on his face during their time together and she was most likely to blame for a portion of them. She could see every smile and joke they shared in between their two defining moments; their beginning and end. Their time together wasn't enough for her. She would always wish they had more, but she tried to appreciate what she had had with him. A million years would never have been enough. There were so many secrets, so many buried pieces, to each of them that it would have taken an eternity to unearth them all. She wished they had had that, but didn't all couples wish for the very same?

She let her eyes drift open before she looked around her modest garden with a wisdom only her greater number of years could have brought about. All she had left was the past and present. Most days she spent her present in the past, however. She'd made peace with her tragedies and banished her demons. When she didn't have a grandchild or great grandchild visiting, she used her summer days to relive the happier times of her past. She'd pick her favorite childhood moment, ignoring the disappointments and fears. She traveled back to all the places she'd once been, never letting a single thought wander towards who she had killed during her travels. She remembered NCIS for the people and friends she had there, not for the cases or gruesome things she had seen during her time there. She had lived a full life, and now she chose which details were part of her tail. She had picked her path and rewritten her history. Who was there to argue with her anyway?

A small smile spread across her slack features as a familiar face pulled her from her reverie. The young woman had the same glint in her eyes as her grandfather did. Ziva would always love her for the carefree attitude she had held onto so far in her life and pray she'd never lose it. The girl met Ziva's eyes with an easy grin and waved as she stopped just outside the fence. The old loyal Collie, named Shep, at Ziva's feet lifted its head and happily waged his tail in greeting.

Eliza looked nothing like her grandmother; she didn't look even look like her mother. She was the black sheep of the family when it came to appearances. Her siblings and cousins had dark hair, tanned skin and darker eyes. It seemed as though Ziva's dominant genes had trickled down the line to everyone except Eliza, her youngest granddaughter. Eliza had buttery blond hair and large ice-blue doe eyes. Her dewy lips were almost always curled into a smile that could win the coldest heart over. Eliza's older brother had opposite features, clearly coming from Ziva's side. It was only fate that the son of a pale Irishman and natural blond should contribute his DNA towards at least one child. That child just happened to be Eliza.

The 17 year old pushed open the gate and walked up the steps onto her grandmother's porch. The elderly woman placed the tea on a table with shaky shriveled hands and stood to receive the teenager in an embrace. Of the numerous children, grandchildren and the few great grandchildren she had, she was closest to Eliza. She visited everyday to walk Ziva's dog and to hear stories of Ziva's past life. Her grandmother was her best friend. Though all her descendants spoke some Hebrew, Eliza had begged her grandmother to teach her to speak fluently when she was seven. Since, the bond had been unbreakable.

"Savta! Mah shlomech?" The young woman greeted as she kissed he grandma's cheek and held her bony hands within her younger plump ones.

"Tov Me'od, Todah" Ziva replied her accent as rich as ever. She pulled her granddaughter down into the seat beside her.

"Ah, and how is Shep? Hmm?" Eliza cooed as the dog rested it's head on her lap. Giving sweet scratches behind the dogs ears, Eliza curled up onto the swing's bench and poured herself some ice tea.

"Motek, how many more days until school starts again?" Ziva questioned as Eliza turned and snuggled more comfortably onto the cushion. Her feet rested on her grandmother's lap and Ziva kneaded the child's foot in massage. As she listened in fascination to her grandchild's tales of an average summer and plans for her senior year, Ziva hoped the innocence would last until she was her age.

The sun lowered slightly and Eliza's head had switched places with her feet, Ziva knew it would soon be time to drag the girl inside to begin dinner. She ran her fingers through the straight nearly-white hair and enjoyed the easy companionship similar to that she had found in Tony so many decades ago. Eliza shifted slightly to look up at the aged face of her grandmother.

"Savta?" she muttered quietly, "will you tell me that love story again?"

"Ulai'" Ziva responded coyly, "which story is this, hmm?"

"You know which story, Savta!" Eliza chuckled softly, "The special agent love story. Like James Bond."

"Ah, yes, that one. About Special Agents Tommy and Lisa, yes?" Ziva teased, a knowing smirk on her face. Just speaking those names catapulted her back to a different time. Resuming her comforting stroking of Eliza's scalp, the same motion he had liked so much, she retold the practiced fairytale starring two characters Eliza would never know were real, or who they had represented. Deep Six and the sequels had been buried amongst ancient and archived books long ago.

She became lost with Eliza among perfected characters and tales, a handful of details changed for the better. Some chapters seemed tragic, however the majority were happy. It was the greatest love story ever told. It was straight out of the movies.

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MUAHAHAHAHA! I was kind of weary about continuing this because I didn't want to answer "Did Tony die?". But you guys were so kind and encouraging that I wanted to write something that could apply to either. I wanted to leave that giant question unanswered so maybe Tony died in the warehouse or maybe he died more recently. I don't know. You don't know. Isn't that awesome? Get creative! For all you know this is a conspiracy theory.  
Did you like it? Let me know. It feels a little rough to me so I don't know. I might come back and sand it smooth later. I just wanted to leave it like this. Lay your critique on me!

Anyway, thank you for hanging out with me during this short little story. Sadly, this will be the end. I never intended this to be more than a oneshot but you guys inspired me and this came out. I hope ya'll aren't dissapointed but I never wanted to reveal Tony's fate. It wasn't what the story was about. It was about people, second chances or lack thereof, love and not knowing what might happen before you get the chance to take your leap. It's about not waiting too long to tell someone you love them.

Luna

P.S. Visit my profile for the link to the family tree if you're confused. Also, I didn't translate the Hebrew because it's just basic conversation. What's said isn't exactly as important as the fact that they communicate in Hebrew. It's a special bond between them.


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